This next story, Gentle Readers, takes place further along in time from the story of Jen the Enchanter’s vision, as you will discern. Ember’s poor Knight has passed on and a generation has gone by. But Ember remembers. As do others. – The Scrivener.

P.S. - There is a story that relates the circumstances of the Knight’s passing that I shall share with you, later on. – TS

A NIGHT IN A GRAVEYARD

On a cold night, two very young people, a girl and a boy, sit quietly, almost motionlessly, in an ancient graveyard. Leaning against a memorial stone, they are strategically situated to just peek over another stone and towards the top of a small hill where the moon, in between passing clouds, illuminates rows of white headstones.

At the top of the hill, beneath a large, gnarled old tree, stands an oddly shaped, out-of-place marker. It is like a statue, but not of a real person. Its outline is shadowed but appears gargoylish even in the shadows.

“How much longer?” the boy asks.

The girl replies, “I don’t know for sure. How long have we been here already?”

“Long enough for my legs to go to sleep twice. Are you sure this is the right night?”

“Of that much I’m sure. You know I couldn’t very well ask Mum for more about when she comes. Mum doesn’t like her. And would like me being out here even less.”

“She doesn’t know you’re here? You sneaked out?”

“Well, sure. Didn’t you?”

“I said I was going to your house to play some chess with you.”

“Oh. That could backfire on us. I hope they don’t go there looking for you before we get back. I’d make up some story for us but Mum would know the date and suspect right away where I’d been.”

“I’ll rub my lucky talisman. It usually keeps me out of trouble.”

“Will it keep me out of trouble, too?”

“I’ve never tried to keep anyone else out of trouble. Usually, I’m hoping someone else will be getting into trouble in my place.”

“Nice. Well, maybe this can be a test for it.”

“I’d rather not push it to do more than it usually does. Maybe we’d better head back if nothing happens soon?”

“I wish I was further up the hill tonight. But you were afraid…”

“If what you said is true, you bet I’m afraid and I don’t want to be any closer than I must be to see if your story is just made-up.”

“Are you saying you think I… shhh. Do you hear something?”

“Just something like a banner flapping in the winds.”

“Jamie… There’s no wind!”

A dark cloudbank passes before the moon and the graveyard falls all in darkness for several moments, and that is when the thing they’re waiting for happens.

As the moonlight returns, the two can see a darkly silhouetted figure that appears to be kneeling by the strange marker stone. The two peer at it but remain silent, and as unmoving as the boy’s shivering allows. The shadowy outline of the visitor's head seems almost a copy of that of the strange statue. The girl barely whispers, "See?"

The two watch as minutes pass. Eyes wide. Mouths agape. Sitting as if dead stones themselves, not daring to make sound or movement.

Eventually, after what seemed hours, the shadow-figure stands and the children’s hearts feel as though they stop beating as the figure turns and seems to look downhill in their direction for a moment. One heart gripped by fear, the other with elation.

There’s a sudden swirling like a black cloud on the hilltop itself. Out of the cloud, great wings unfurl, beating and rising upward. A dark, flying thing circles the hilltop once and then slowly shrinks into the distance before disappearing into the distant dark cloudbanks.

At last the girl speaks, her voice shaking but loud, now that the expected magic has come and gone. "There! That's grandfather's old friend. I told you, didn't I? Now you know the secret, too, and you must never talk of it outside the family. And never tell that we were here. Swear?"

The boy is still staring toward the strange stone. "Yes. I swore it before you brought me. I swear it again. It was real, grampa's story, wasn't it?"

"I saw her face once, when I was able to sneak further up the hill and the moon's light was better. So I know it's a lady like he said. Or something like a lady, anyway. Did you see her look this way? I think she knows I come here but she pretends not to see me. Sometimes I imagine that maybe she even knows who I am. Anyway, Mum says she comes every year on the night grandfather died."

"Now what? Can we go home, now? It's cold and getting late."

"Soon. I have some flowers in my bag from mother's greenhouse to lay for grandfather."

"What kind are they?"

"Snapdragons."